


No Merit

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Canon Typical Violence, Dark Stiles, Gen, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune Stiles, The Ending We Won't Get On The Show, implied character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have become One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If there were no going astray, there would be no seeking for the right path; there would be no merit in goodness.  
> - _History of the Devil, by Paul Carus_

When Stiles wakes, They are crouched on a building overlooking the city. There is a damp chill in the air; it must have rained not long ago. Stiles' skin is goose-pimpled, Their ever-present hoodie and jeans combo not thick enough to block out the cold They no longer register on a sensory level. Their body reacts, but Stiles has long lost the ability to feel.

It doesn't matter, regardless. They will endure.

It is dark, and the footsteps of a few strays wandering home echo through Their ear drums. They tilt Their head to the left, and then the right- no, definitely the left. They listen.

Tip-tapping shoes scrape along the concrete. Heeled shoes; boots probably, best for the constant threat of rain. A woman, then. They curl their fingertips over the thick stone, to get a better view. She's carrying a blue umbrella, so They can't see her face, but They take a deep breath and _listen_.

There is hum in Their bones whenever a suitable sacrifice is close by, one that will please the gods. But there is no hum tonight.  
  
 _And? We are still waiting._

Stiles pushes the thought aside, but it is stubborn, like hard butter being spread across toast with a cold knife.  
  
 _We are hungry._

Stiles frowns, bobbing his head in time with the bounces of the umbrella in the woman's hand. They watch until she rounds a corner and is out of sight. They hiss in annoyance, but Stiles is unmoved.

_**We can wait. The gods do not approve of greed.** _

The clouds above Them part, and Their attention is drawn to the beauty of the full moon. So bright, so vital. Once, it meant something more to Them, but those times are long past.

Stiles had been cautiously optimistic about his future as Scott's Emissary, learning how to control his spark. How he had hated Jennifer, and her corrupted path. It seems so strange to Them now, that They had ever feared her or her choices.  
  
They are a better Darach than she ever was. Controlled. Fastidious. Cunning. They do not get caught.

But They are still _nogitsune_. Tricksters at heart. It was difficult, at first, to keep the balance. But They found that Stiles, for all his attention problems, was best at Order; methodical in his madness. And the Shadow revelled in Chaos.

A shame then, that They were exposed before they could finish their game in Beacon Hills. In the end They only drew power from the life-blood of three sacrifices there; the huntress, and the Omega twins. Stiles raged against touching the others, still fragile and new, but the sweet temptation of blood was too much to ignore. So They forged Their own path, and They never looked back. Only the gods can judge them now. But the gods are silent.

They have become One; and They belong to the darkness. They do not think to remember the light.

 

.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, They meet Others. Shape-shifters, psychics, demon-spawn and fae. Only the strongest can recognise the dark beneath the honey-eyed boy with thin fingers and freckled skin. And only the foolish seek to challenge Them.

Peter was the first, who sought to take Their power for himself. As if he could control the nogitsune within. A petty, vindictive creature, who played at villainy. Without insanity to guide him, he was no threat. He did not even realise that you cannot control a force of nature; you can only endure it. His blood was sweet, and They rendered flesh. But he still breathed, the night They embraced the darkness and left Beacon Hills forever. 

The next to approach Them was a siren, who sought to enslave Them with her melliflous notes. She at least knew enough not to try and force the Shadow out; her ploy was to drain the host and then set Them to do her bidding. Like a genie confinded to a lamp, They would have been tethered to her. Instead, They tore out her pretty throat with Their teeth and left her twitching on the dusty ground.

Then They only sensed the Others; a nest of vampires, thick blood calling out to them and smothering Their senses, followed by a clairvoyant, who spoke to the spirits and predicted disasters. She was gone the day after They arrived in town, and They were pleased that not all of humanity was merely cattle waiting to be slaughtered. It was refreshing.

Having no goal in mind, save to strengthen Their abilities, They seek out occult shops for interesting titbits and arcane books. They eventually find one run by real witches, and the urge to consume Their hearts and absorb their powers is strong. But Stiles does not have the guidence he once did, and instead They convince the witches of Their abilities, Their willingless to learn. The coven is small and They slip right in, like oil spreading into cracks in the tarmac. The witches do not suspect what They are; not until They stand before them, blood stained and wretched. They cannot leave behind loose ends.

They put their new skills to use immediately. They know now, how to listen for suitable sacrifices, which gods to call upon and dedicate their kills to, to draw the most power. It burns like electricity through Their veins every time a tribute is accepted. This must be how it feels to be a kitsune. Such power; such strength. Life burns through Them, and all the stars are alight.

They make Their way east. The further from home They are, the safer They will be. They stick to the big cities, blending with the shadows, becoming one with the night. They are the apex predator that stalks the twilight, and They do not fear the other creatures of the night.

Always, They are driven by Their thirst; for knowledge, clarity, supremacy. They are drawn to Chaos, the stench of fear and the sorrow of grief. The toxic underbelly is rife with such delicious scents, wherever They go. They forget what it is to feel love, or joy, or fear. There is only pain, and the absense of it.

They are fast, now. They move in a blur, almost too fast for the human eye to catch. They have become the danger glimpsed only in the periphery, always lurking just out of sight.

It is a strange senstation when the roles are reversed. The tingle of eyes upon Them sends a shiver through Their flesh. The watcher has become the watched. The hunter the hunted? The eyes are curious, the Watcher always at a cautious distance. But all threats must be eliminated, and They cannot be observed. They dart round delaptiated buildings, grasping fingers outstreched, but they only close on air. They are... baffled. It is a fresh sensation and They like it. There is a mischevious tint in the air; and it soon becomes a game.

Stiles likes games. He licks his lips in anticipation; yes, They will enjoy this one very much.

**Author's Note:**

> The pull on my flesh was just too strong  
> It stifled the choice and the air in my lungs  
> Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie  
> - _Broken Crown, Mumford & Sons_


End file.
